


a cold before christmas

by Miyo_is_Tired



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: ? - Freeform, Also Some Humor, Angst, Christmas, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 16:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17083361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miyo_is_Tired/pseuds/Miyo_is_Tired
Summary: When Christmas was only five days away, a certain Alfred F. Jones had begun to decorate his house with all that he had kept in that darn, messy, dusty storage room of his; that is, about a hundred dozen light bulbs, fake snow sprays, deer and snowman ornaments, and numerous glittery garlands. Decorating also included sprinkling the outside with confetti, fixing numerous Christmas lights onto the roof, the porch, and the living room - when he also decided to "spice up" their bedroom time with a Santa outfit, it was hard for Arthur not to slap him on the head.Nevertheless, now, a day before Christmas, that said Alfred F. Jones definitely had not caught a cold if one was to ask him. On the contrary, a cohabitant of the man, a one Arthur Kirkland, who had to deal with him, would say the opposite.





	a cold before christmas

**Author's Note:**

> hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh me tried. written for nooowestayandgetcaught for the hetalia holiday special! 
> 
> big shoutout to my momther cozy, softestbreads on tumblr!, for betaing!!!!!! hope u enjoy~

"Eat the chicken soup, you wanker!"

When Christmas was only five days away, a certain Alfred F. Jones had begun to decorate his house with all that he had kept in that darn, messy, dusty storage room of his; that is, about a hundred dozen light bulbs, fake snow sprays, deer and snowman ornaments, and numerous glittery garlands. Decorating also included sprinkling the outside with confetti, fixing numerous Christmas lights onto the roof, the porch, and the living room - when he also decided to  _ "spice up" _ their bedroom time with a Santa outfit, it was hard for Arthur not to slap him on the head.

Nevertheless, now, a day before Christmas, that said Alfred F. Jones definitely had not caught a cold if one was to ask him. On the contrary, a cohabitant of the man, a one Arthur Kirkland, who had to deal with him, would say the opposite.

"Hahh... Artie, 'm alright... Dun need no soup, or whatever..." yawns America, "...I'll just ask Tony t'help meh..."

Arthur is horrified in response. "No, no- that alien will have nothing to do with your sickness!"

"You really are the Supernanny, are you?"

"Eat the darn soup, you arse!"

 

***

Having America sick only meant England was pretty much obliged to stay in his house and look after him as well as don't let the alien near him. He was generally alright with that as it gave him additional time - not only to attempt to work on some of his country's problems (he still had a mixed opinion on Theresa May's Brexit), but he also had the possibility to truly tidy up the entire house, both from the wretched aftermath of Alfred's dazzlingly obnoxious Christmas accessories and the tissues he had left behind in the wake of his cold. Arthur was quite a sanitary man - a clean freak according to his housemate - and keeping the house in pristine condition was a goal very salient to him. And yet, notwithstanding that, cleaning up after Alfred and  _ only _ Alfred struck England as a warm, soothing sentiment. He was unsure of where did that, of all things, originate - yet be it their shared past, present, or future, it still put him at rest. And all of America's chatter and shouting and all the stupid things he did settle deep down into his heart, burning their way into it, molding it into whatever Alfred wanted it to be. If they were not countries, then perhaps Arthur would take these feelings seriously.

 

But he didn’t, for they are still all countries, and until the day they are unneeded, he shall live and prosper as England, not as Arthur Kirkland. 

 

Chasing personal, selfish desires was Kirkland's dream, not England's, and thus whatever heartache was ever caused by America, not Alfred Jones, was something to put aside for now. Even if it had been lasting for centuries now. Arthur was just happy to see Alfred smile and breathe in tandem with him.

“Uhh... Artie… do you still have s'me Gatorade?”

“No Gatorade until you recover.”

“B-but pwease…”

Sighing, Arthur brought a teapot into the room instead. It smelled of broth and medication, and the bed Alfred is lying on creaks under the weight of him (Arthur catches himself on the thought of torturing the mattress during some  _ other _ circumstances, yet it just makes him further worried about whatever sick passion he has developed for the man in front of him).

He considered the scene unfolding quite cute. Alfred pouting, asking Arthur to bring him food, or just being clingier than ever seemed bizarrely adorable. Showing that, however, did not feel like a good idea to England, and thus he simply sat on the edge of the bed, setting the teapot down on the floor. Alfred's cheeks were burning red and he had a thermometer squished between his pink lips; touching his forehead with his palm carefully, Arthur felt it still hot as ever.

“You're not quite getting better yet,” he grasped a tattered Pikachu cup (a gift from Kiku), pouring the tea with brilliant preciseness, making sure not to spill anything, “but we're working on it.”

Clutching a Kumajiro plushie that his brother managed to seek out somehow, - the Jones brothers were quite an eccentric pair of siblings for sure - Alfred groaned. “I miss Toys R Us.”

“So do I,” answered the green-eyed man, elegantly handling the ill young man some tea.

“Arthur, do you think me getting weaker is because of…” he trailed off suddenly, the gaze in his baby blue eyes afraid - or, perhaps, astray; lost. - and sheepish. That was enough to make Arthur fret.

“Because of…?”

“So many great people have died, England,” he muttered to himself, voice noticeably hushed. Arthur flinched at his country name. “I know it's usual. It's normal when people die and we don't, because we're literally the countries. But I… I still remember how great John McCain was, and how inspirational George H.W Bush was… it-it's a shame their time is up, and being the hero without the people who made you that is hard.”

Kirkland was startled speechless, filled with needless emotions to the brim - and in unawareness of what to do next, all he does is take Alfred by the hand, squeezing it. “I know. I know it. Everything passes, and… it's never easy, Alfred. You'll have to carry on being a hero by yourself. While not many might know of who you are, you embody your very own nation, and so- and thus-” he stuttered, searching for words when he sees America's eyes tearing up. Afraid of making a wrong move, he opened and closed his mouth like a total cretin until the other man gave him that beaming, gorgeous smile full of hope and everything good in the world - only then does he go on. “Thus… stand proud. And know that, e-even if I am rude… and an arse… I love staying with you. I love that we, even as independent countries, keep in touch and even live together like at this moment… I-I value every moment with you, Alfred. I truly do, and hence believe in you, with or without prominent figures, you wanker. They will meet you in their afterlife.”

Blinking the tears away, Alfred glowed again and said something uncalled for. “Hey, England… cheeky Nando's with tha lads, yeah?” He imitated his accent, almost to comic perfection, bursting out laughing.

“Oh, you-” and in turn, Arthur acted annoyed.

 

***

 

To celebrate Christmas was a task uneasy with a country befallen ill. In spite of that, Arthur somehow managed to get Alfred out of his bed and onto the couch with the TV on - just for background noise, surely; England cared not for idiotic game shows. America was lying in his lap, snoring softly; the clock striked 22:54, as Kirkland noticed.

Lulled by the vivid colors coming from the television, Arthur found himself drifting off to sleep - on accident, that was.

***

**“A-ARTIE! WA…WAKE UP!”**

Huh?

**“ENGLAND DAMMIT, GIMME MY GATORADE, NOW!”**

Oh, right, it was America, and he had woken Arthur up with his godawful screeches. He did not comprehend why until he looks at the clock-

23:58.

“WHAT THE FU-”

“WE SLEPT THROUGH CHRISTMAS, ENGLAND!!! I BLAME YOUR TEA!!!”

***

Now in a comfortable silence after what seemed akin to an hour of screaming - and which was about two minutes worth of it - the two were still watching TV, America's eyes glued to the screen.

“No wonder you're wearing glasses,” Arthur hmphs, face down in a cup of tea, “if you're always around devices and television.”

“Aw, c'mon, man. Don't ruin the mood. I know what you should do instead.”

“Hm?”

Arthur lifted his caterpillar eyebrows, glancing at Alfred questionably.

“So you said how you valued every moment with me…”

“Yes.”

“And you love that we're not fighting anymore, right?”

“Indeed.”

This was getting fishy.

“Then, oh Arthur Kirkland, England of the UK,” the daring look on Alfred's face and the blush on his face gave away any of his further words and made the above-mentioned man question his sobriety instead. “kiss me.”

They spent the remaining Christmas night with the bed creaking for, erm…  _ Reasons _ .

**Author's Note:**

> owo i take requests owo my discord is milky milk#0656


End file.
